


Poison In The Wine

by CannibalsSong (untamedsymphony)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: And believe it or not there is no smut in this one!, Dark Will Graham, Forgiveness, I didn't win but I wrote my little heart out and am happy, M/M, My contribution to the Stag Awards, Sort of? - Freeform, Will's plan goes down the drain, hannibal's office, in the end it wasn't really shattered after all, long conversations, lots of eye fucking, ridiculous metaphor extension, seduction through pretentious work play, the tea cup comes back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untamedsymphony/pseuds/CannibalsSong
Summary: Will kept his head tilted back, his eyes closed, but allowed a small, sad smile to sit upon his lips.  “It would be eminently more desirable, I assure you.  But you are like the poison in the wine, Hannibal. Despite the knowledge that you will eventually destroy me, you are still sweet upon my lips, intoxicating to my mind, a fire in my blood.  An acquired taste, to be sure, but one that you have encouraged and I have, to my detriment, come to require.”  A quiet sigh, exhaustion, and resignation carried together on a near silent breath.  “Or perhaps I have just decided it is better to be alone, together.”





	Poison In The Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So this was my submission to the Stag Awards at FFT. I didn't win, but I can't say I'm upset about it. I feel satisfied I wrote the best story I was capable of in the time I had and with the theme presented and I hope everyone will enjoy it for what it is. And hats off to the winners, cause as I found out, writing on a deadline SUCKS!!! LOL! With that being said, this is very different from what I usually write, so please don't be too disappointed that there is no smut. I promise to get back to my usual trash soon enough!
> 
> As always, I don't own it, I just took it in a different direction for once.
> 
> Love and Hugs,
> 
> CS

It must have been a truly ethereal denizen of Hell that the Countess Lecter had taken to her bed to allow her to beget such an enthralling offspring as Hannibal Lecter.  As fanciful as the concept was, to Will it seemed at least as likely as any other more rational explanation for even the possibility of someone so simultaneously enticing and abhorrent not only existing in this world but able to successfully move through it unrecognized for what he was.  Perhaps it had been Ba’al himself who had seduced and whispered his way between the noble woman's thighs before breeding upon her a bastard son that would be more than pleasing enough to a god of such... _ appetites.  _  It would certainly explain the unusual nature of Hannibal’s given name, amongst other things.

 

“I am most curious, Will, as to which dark path, in particular, your wandering mind has taken you down tonight to bring such an air of cruel amusement to your eyes.”  Softly murmured and yet as clear as the peal of a bell strike, Hannibal’s voice drew Will back from his musings, the one voice in a sea of screams that could reach him no matter how deeply inward he turned.

 

“Cruel amusement…”  Will let the words roll off his tongue, giving each syllable its rightful due and consideration.  “Well, you would know, I suppose, being so intimately familiar with that concept yourself.” The twist of a smile kept the words from being petulant without removing even a sliver of the barb.  An opening salvo to this evening’s edition of the tangled, weaving dance of shadow and innuendo they were engaging in with such indulgence. All of it wrapped up neatly in the guise of therapy and polite conversation, of course.

 

A tilt of the head, the low light catching a glancing blow against sharp and shadowed cheekbones, only a slight narrowing around the eyes letting Will know the barb had caught, if only shallowly. No matter. In the games played by predators, even a flesh wound would eventually bear fruit.  “Just so.” Voice pitched just this side of casual interest, a mild arch of a brow to invite further comment. “But perhaps you would indulge my curiosity all the same.”

 

Will let his lips curl in a half smile, a shoulder raised and lowered in a lazy shrug.  “As so often happens when you are the subject of my thoughts, my mind tends towards shadowed flights of fancy, Dr. Lecter.” Oh, Hannibal liked that, pleasure heating his eyes to a warm, bloody hue as the older man all but preened under the profiler’s gaze.  Will almost snorted. Vanity, thy name is Hannibal.

 

“Fantasizing about killing me again, Will?”  The Doctor couldn’t look more pleased with himself if he tried.  Time to knock that down a peg.

 

“Oh, not today, Hannibal, though that is one of my favorite pastimes.  I was actually giving consideration to your parentage and its legitimacy.  Tell me, did your mother ever entertain demons by chance?” It was a safe kind of insult as Hannibal had never harbored any emotional attachment to his mother, before or after her death.  And the narcissist in Hannibal would see only the flattery of Will imagining him as something more than human. So, it was no insult at all, really.

 

As predicted, no offense was taken, Hannibal allowing the barest hint of amusement to grace his lips.  “And would that please you, Will? If my existence were the result of a demon’s interference or God’s own negligence towards his creation rather than the reality that I am just a man?  Would that restore some of your lost faith in humanity if it were true? Perhaps the idea of it would, at the very least, allow you to rest easier at night, knowing the monster you and you alone perceive is real in a very literal sense.”

 

Will let out a small laugh, enjoyment at their banter a welcome benefit and reward.  The plan had seemed so simple when he and Jack had first conceived it, but the mental strain of dancing verbally with Hannibal over such a long period of time without losing himself to who he was pretending to be was draining.  The emotional toll was even more difficult to contend with. While still viciously angry with Hannibal for attempting and then spectacularly succeeding in framing him for the other man’s crimes, Will often found himself blindsided by genuine affection for the Doctor.  He honestly  _ liked _ Hannibal, even after everything he had done.  And having the man’s full attention focused on him was both intoxicating and terrifying by turn.  “Oh, you are real enough, Hannibal. Whether human or demon, we both know the reality of your true nature.  And before you ask, the Ninth Circle, Round Three fits you best I think.”

 

“Ptolomea.” Long legs uncrossed and recrossed widdershins, graceful hands folded neatly into his lap as the Doctor considered Will’s decree of his placement in the realm of Dante’s Hell, pleasure at the metaphor crinkling the skin around his eyes and tugging his lips into the smallest of smiles.  But behind the pleasure there lingered something else. Something nebulous that muddied the bloody amber of Hannibal’s gaze and throttled the tiny smile into stillness before it could be fully born. Something that Will stubbornly refused to recognize as regret. “Ptolomea was reserved for those who betrayed guests and family members.  As we have long since moved past the time when you were a mere guest in my home, Will. and you made your opinion on the state of our friendship very clear while incarcerated, am I to assume you prefer to see us as family?”

 

“Family?”  Will did nothing to conceal the quiet, seething rage at the pain that one word conjured.  “Oh yes, Doctor Lecter, we most certainly are family. Twisted and bloody, but yes, family still for all of that.  You gave me a daughter after all.” Resentful and acrid, like bile and poison, the words spilled forth, refusing to be contained.  “And Abigail was as she always was, true to her nature, the perfect lure. Vulnerable and hurting and so  _ achingly _ fragile you knew I would never be able to resist caring for her.  The opportunity must have been too perfect to pass up, given your nature.  So, with patience and meticulous precision, you set us into motion. Fostering affection and cultivating my latent paternal instincts towards her with a deft hand, maneuvering us into just the position you wanted and binding us ever tighter with secrets and half-truths until even the  _ thought _ of betraying her was abhorrent.”  Will’s laugh was bitter, the scorn it carried directed at himself now as he ran fingers over chapped lips as if to contain that which had already escaped.  On this one subject and this one alone, he allowed himself to be completely honest with Hannibal. The rawness of his emotions would only lend greater authenticity to the role he told himself he was playing.  “I knew what you were doing, could see the puppet strings you were so carefully sewing into my skin and my emotions. Even with my mind on fire, I could see it. You weren’t as subtle as you could have been, Doctor.” Will’s voice was a mocking chide, his head tilted so he gazed across the small divide between them almost coyly. “But then, you didn’t need to be, did you?”

 

The chime signaled the end of the hour softly, an unwelcome and unnecessary remnant of limitations neither one of the two men in the room felt inclined to observe any longer. Hannibal rose to his feet slowly, gracefully, straightening his suit coat with a murmured, “One moment, please,” before going to silence the disruption.  When he returned, he brought with him two glasses and a decanter of dark red wine. Setting one glass on the table at Will’s elbow, he carefully poured, not bothering to regale the younger man with a description of the wine’s merits, knowing Will would not care.

 

Moving to his own side table, Hannibal repeated the process, graceful movements precise and measured, almost ritualistic in their manner but still as fascinating to Will as the first time he had witnessed it.  When the Doctor had settled into his seat once more, his eyes closed as Will knew they would, the wine cradled carefully by long, elegant fingers as it was brought to hover just under slightly flared nostrils. Sculpted lips parted then, just slightly, just enough to allow the inhaled scent of the wine to flow over a refined palate before the glass was tipped and a single, savored sip was allowed passage.

 

Will’s own lips parted in sympathy, his gaze held captive as the normally austere features relaxed in appreciative pleasure.  It was beguiling, those few moments when Hannibal ate or drank, those rare occasions when he allowed his pleasure to suffuse and transform the harsh lines of his face into something softer.  Almost vulnerable. Almost human. Will often imagined it was how the other man might look when attending the opera and he found himself coveting these rare occasions almost against his will.

 

But inevitably those eyes opened and the moment was shattered, any illusion entertained regarding vulnerability or humanity withering under the weight of a cruel, intelligent gaze.  Will looked away guiltily, feeling as if he had been caught eavesdropping on a private moment. When he managed to glance back, it was to be met with knowing eyes and lips curled faintly at the edges.  But rather than press the matter as he might have, fully aware of Will’s strange discomfort as he must have been, Hannibal surprised him by returning to their interrupted conversation.

 

“No, there was no need for subtlety on my part, not when you were so willing to be led.  I merely opened the door for you, Will, and you eagerly stumbled through on your own, all but bursting with clumsy affection and sincere intentions that finally had a focus beyond your pack.  Though, I must admit to being pleasantly surprised in regards as to how quickly you bonded with Abigail and she with you, once her initial resentment towards you as her father’s executioner faded of course.  The depth and strength of the attachment were not unexpected, mind you. Just the speed at which it was formed.” Hannibal’s head tilted, expression thoughtful. “I would imagine Freddie Lounds may have had something to do with accelerating that particular process.”

 

Will could not help the unconscious grimace the mention of that name twisted his face into, teeth baring in a snarl of hatred. “That woman is a jackal.  A dangerous, grasping, petty little scavenger that should have been put down long ago.” Well. There appeared to be one more subject Will could be honest with the Doctor about.  It was just as well really because he seriously doubted he could feign any kind of benevolent emotion towards the malicious, interfering redhead if his life depended upon it. Deep, steadying breaths helped to reel in the vicious emotions coiling and twisting in his gut, settling them down to impatient rest, banked embers that would be ready to flare to life again at a more opportune moment.  Right now, all he was accomplishing by giving vent to his darker urges was providing Hannibal with amusement, and amusing Hannibal always came with the questionable caveat of engaging his curiosity. And wasn’t  _ that _ a dangerous thing…

 

The flickering light from the fireplace reflected and refracted in the dark pools of the Doctor’s eyes, giving credibility to Will’s earlier musings.  Dangerous that gaze was, the darkness shimmering behind those amber depths calling to Will’s own, daring him to match hunger for hunger, to paint in crimson and witness the glory of a life as it faded from the world at his behest.  It would be so easy to give in, to revel in the things the good Doctor wanted to share with him.

 

Hannibal set his wine aside as he leaned forward in his seat, a predator fully focused on the soft underbelly his prey had inadvertently shown.  “Such animosity often lends itself to action, dear Will. So it begs the question, what has stayed your hand thus far? What has prevented you, in your righteous fury, from carrying out the judgment you have put forth?  You have all the means to procure your desired outcome and the intelligence and resourcefulness required to avoid any repercussions that may follow.”

 

Will’s smile was pleased but self-deprecating, accepting both the compliment and truth of Hannibal’s words while mentally acknowledging just how twisted and lost he must have become that Hannibal’s praise could bring him such pleasure.  He allowed the smallest of sounds, a considering hum to pass his lips as he leaned forward to mirror the Doctor’s pose, going so far as to mimic the curious tilt of his head and the steepled hands angled between bent knees. “If you’re asking me why I haven’t killed Freddie Lounds yet, I’m afraid it’s nothing quite as grandiose as what you may have imagined.  My reasons stem from a simple place of practicality.” Will’s voice drew out the syllables, enunciating each one with care as he ticked the words out on the fingers of one hand. “Means, motive, and opportunity. I have all three in abundance and that makes me the perfect suspect. And as I have no desire to return to a cell with any form of acceleration, our favorite scavenger will have to remain free to roam for the foreseeable future.  Better to bide my time. Freddie will keep, for now.”

 

Hannibal grinned, a real smile this time that showed off his imperfect, jagged teeth to perfection.  “Clever boy.”

 

Will shrugged again with one shoulder, determinedly ignoring the fluttering warmth that murmured phrase sent pulsing along his skin. “I have my moments. I think the better question is, Doctor, why haven’t you killed Ms. Lounds yet? I know she’s offended you at least as much as she’s irritated me, coaxing Abigail into that book nonsense and naming Abel Gideon as the Chesapeake Ripper, even if it was at Jack’s direction.  And I do believe she quite rudely leaned against your precious Bentley on at least one occasion.” Here Will let his brow rise in mocking amusement. Hannibal was very good at masking his emotions, but even half mad with the encephalitis as Will had been, he had picked up on the annoyance that had tightened the delicate skin around the Doctor’s eyes at finding the tiresome reporter lounging against the pristine paint of his hideously expensive vehicle.  “You can’t be that fond of her writing, surely?” 

 

It was a gentle, teasing taunt, almost flirtatious in its tone and where the hell that had come from was beyond Will, but the effect it had on Hannibal wiped away any embarrassment before it had a chance to form.  As close as they were to each other, leaning intimately in so that the space between them became shared and far from neutral, it was impossible to miss the sudden, damning dilation of the doctor’s pupils nor the defined flare of his nostrils.  The reaction lasted mere seconds, no more than the span of two of Will’s suddenly thundering heartbeats before it was subsumed, the mask that habitually sat upon the Doctor’s face like a widow’s veil falling back into place.

 

Hannibal sat back in his seat, neatly composed once more as if the previous moment had never been.  But the telling flush that graced the Doctor’s features, not quite deep enough to be named a blush, no, but there nonetheless, gave Will a heady sense of triumph.  And it was Hannibal who looked away this time. For once, it was  _ he _ who desperately sought to avoid the eye contact Will now felt his own gaze demanding.  It was almost titillating, the feeling of power that filled him at knowing he had accomplished something near impossible.  He, awkward and inelegant Will Graham, had managed to discomfit the unflappable Hannibal Lecter. The exact cause of that discomfiture would need close examination at a later date, the ramifications and his own reaction to the sudden revelation that Hannibal was attracted to more than his mind far too overwhelming to deal with while still in the man’s presence.  For now, Will would just relish the unique experience, confident it would not last overly long.

 

“Have you no answer for me, Doctor Lecter?  Have I said something that has actually managed to cause that brilliant mind of yours to stumble to a rare and perhaps unprecedented stop?”  Will couldn’t resist poking just a bit, knowing even as he gave life to the taunt he was most likely to be savaged for his efforts.

 

The cruel glint of Hannibal’s gaze informed him clearly that he was about to be repaid in kind for refusing to ignore the lapse in the Doctor’s iron control and choosing, unwisely, to mock it instead.  Tone as smooth and as conversational as if he were making small talk at one of his dinner parties, Hannibal’s voice gave no indication at all as to his ire, but Will braced himself for the lash of Hannibal’s tongue nonetheless, more than able to read the displeasure in the dark, fathomless eyes so focused on his own.  “Ms. Lounds is every bit the scavenger you named her to be, and as such, she has her uses. Contrary to socially held concepts, scavengers fill a very important, even necessary position in the natural order of things. Bearing witness to the kills of other, larger predators and tidying up the mess left behind.” A moment’s pause before the Doctor’s lips parted once more and Will tensed, feeling the weight and prick of the blade even before Hannibal’s words sliced deep into where he was most vulnerable.  “In addition, they cull the herd of the old, the infirm. And above all, their presence necessitates that parents keep close watch over their tender, unlearned young or face the unpleasant consequences of having them savagely torn from them.” Hannibal took his wine in hand once more, smiling humorlessly over the rim at Will. “Very useful creatures, scavengers.”

 

Oh, that _ hurt… _  Will felt himself recoiling from the verbal blow, flinching inside of himself at the brutal reminder that he had been pitifully, unpardonably ineffectual in his efforts at protecting Abigail from predation.  From Freddie Lounds, from Hannibal and from himself most of all. When would he learn that provoking Hannibal would always,  _ always _ leave him bleeding in one way or another? Feeling verbally and emotionally eviscerated, all pleasure fled from Will’s voice, his expression darkening with bitter, useless anger.  

 

“Always the puppetmaster.  Pulling and plucking at our strings just  _ so _ to make us dance to a tune we can neither hear nor comprehend. And oh, how we danced for you, Doctor. Always in motion, whirling about in a mad dervish, never understanding exactly who was leading, knowing only that we were driven to play our parts, never mind that the script was still evolving, that the play was a tragedy in its death throes.”

 

“And yet you remain, Will.  Here, still and always, with me. The play is not over.”  Arrogant. Possessive. Hannibal’s words were like a brand over a still bleeding wound.  But Will was not ready to have that particular gash cauterized just yet. It still pulsed with the virulent infection of betrayal; pain and bitterness and rage still seeped from beneath the poorly constructed bandage of a half thought out revenge Will had managed to plaster over its raw and ragged edges.

 

“It is for the smallest and most delicate of your puppets, Hannibal.  Abigail danced outside of the lines, went off script when she dug up the body of Nicholas Boyle and displayed her sin for the world to see.  Your toy had the gall to misbehave and so you broke it. Severed her strings, stilling her forever.” Will could feel the tears stinging his eyes and he’d be damned if he would gift Hannibal with them again.  Rising from his seat, agitated and furious with himself for allowing the Doctor’s words to affect him so, he set his feet to wandering, moving about the confines of the elegant office, finding solace and shelter in its shadows as he fought for the composure he would need to engage with Hannibal further.

 

Hannibal, patient, always so very, maddeningly  _ patient, _ remained where he was, not even his eyes tracking Will’s sullen circuit of his office.  There was no need. There was no real escape for Will at this juncture and both men were fully aware of that truth.  Where could Will go, if not to Hannibal?

 

“There was no peace in this life for Abigail, Will.  No way to avoid its judgments and condemnations. I could no more protect her from this than you could.”  Truths and platitudes, twisted and shaped with careful delicacy to shimmer in the heavy silence that stretched between them.  Another tie to bind them.

 

Will had completed his course around the periphery of their shared enclosed space and returned now to stand behind the chair he had so recently vacated like the needle of a compass returning to true North.  He wanted, no  _ needed, _ to see the Doctor’s face, to gauge his reaction to this last truth Will would grant him in their game.

 

“For all your machinations, the twisted illusions and half-truths, the lives you have taken and the unending nightmare you have ushered my very existence into, I can forgive you.  There is no satisfaction to be found in expecting a predator to behave contrary to his nature and I would not expect such a thing from you. To do so would be foolish and I am finished with behaving foolishly where you are concerned.”  The deep breaths Will tried to force into his lungs seemed wet and heavy, tinged with just a hint of copper and stifling his efforts to remain calm and present in this moment. With the futility of that desire heavy against his skin, he closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing once more, bringing into focus each and every one of the injuries Hannibal had dealt him, letting them bloom and take form in the landscape of his mind.  

 

They were beautiful in their complexity, terrifying in their efficiency, each one a blade fashioned with the explicit intent to excise the unnecessary with surgical precision, to pare Will down to his base elements and lay bare that which only Hannibal had been able to discern beneath his carefully constructed surface.  Opening his eyes, Will was not surprised to find the tableaus from his mindscape laid out like a macabre backdrop across the murky shadows of the office with the Doctor placed perfect center in the foreground. A proud Master surrounded by his  _ magnum opus. _

 

“You knew about the encephalitis, probably early on.  You’re far too observant to have missed the early symptoms.  Curious, you let me burn, watching with detached fascination as my mind turned against me.   You wanted to see what would happen, and looking back now, it must have made things so much easier when you painted me as the copycat.  Fate can be so serendipitous, fickle thing that she is.” Will cocked his head, a sudden realization clicking into place. “But you couldn’t have foreseen my illness, could you?” Will murmured, almost to himself.  “No, you were going to kill me at first, were still fully prepared to do so if I had gotten too close, even after you realized what it was I was suffering from. But my illness changed things, gave you the opportunity to keep the shiny new toy Jack had all but thrust into your lap around for just a little longer.” Hannibal remained silent, his burning gaze never wavering, clinging with an almost otherworldly intensity that compelled Will to continue, to give the Doctor a taste, just a glimpse, of what he desired most.   _ To know and be known in return. _

 

The landscape behind Hannibal shifted and shimmered, the image of the clocks Will had drawn at the Doctor’s bidding so long ago burning away to make room for the next to appear, like slides in a presentation.  A familiar form stepped from the shadows, the face of a friend, one barely known but loved nonetheless and now irrevocably lost.

 

“Beverly…”  Will’s voice cracked, stuttered with remorse and grief, forcing the profiler to clear his throat harshly to clear away the clog of emotions that threatened to choke him.  “Beverly’s death was as much my doing as it was yours. I set her on your scent, pointed out your trail. I was still new to our game, just learning how to play. In my hasty enthusiasm, my driving need to run my quarry to ground, I failed to employ the necessary precautions and Beverly was far too clever and curious for her own good.  Like a stubborn, headstrong hound, she refused to be called off the hunt, tenacious in her pursuit of the truth. Even as I warned her off, I knew she wasn’t capable of letting it go.”

 

“Ms. Katz was an intriguing individual.  Intelligent and engaging, accomplished in her field.   I liked her very much.” The Doctor shifted a bit in his seat, his voice calm, his words chosen with care.  Acknowledgment without admission. Regret without guilt.

 

Will’s smile was melancholy, tinged with remorse and acceptance in equal measure.  “I know you did. Which is why I also know that her death was most likely one born out of necessity rather than by design.  If she had stayed safely out of our little war, she would not have come to the end that ultimately claimed her. But knowing Beverly, she found or saw something that was not meant for prying eyes and it became a matter of survival for you.  One more puppet dancing outside its prescribed role that had to be removed from the stage so the play could go on.”

 

A slight nod of a regal head, a silent concession given and seen.  “It is a tragic reality of this world, Will, that necessity must perpetually eclipse desire.”

 

_ Desire… _

 

A single word, three small syllables spoken as if in incantation, Hannibal’s velvet accent lending life and power to its enunciated form. And again the backdrop shifted, Beverly giving him a sad smile of farewell before her form faded into the shadows to be replaced by that of another.  This one, too, wore familiar features, but ones now colder, harder than before. Alana. Sweet, compassionate Alana stepped forward from the darkness to take her place behind Hannibal, slender arms wrapping around his shoulders as she bent to press a lingering kiss to the smooth skin of the Doctor’s cheek.  Dark, liquid eyes peered with disapproval and mistrust at Will when she straightened, a look he had come to find all too often in her gaze as of late. A look Hannibal had placed there through manipulation and seduction.

 

Will felt his lips twitch, though not in a humor.  The blatant, possessive nature of those delicate, phantom hands clinging to Hannibal’s broad, suit covered shoulders engendered an instinctive, territorial snarl that did not wish to be contained.   _ She has no right!  _  Will jerked as the thought roared through his mind, unbidden and unwanted, flinched from it as if in doing so he could escape the noise and flare of the rage soaked cogitation.  Bewilderment rose in the rough wake left behind by the near-savage need to remove the offending limbs from where they absolutely did not belong, unease slowly bleeding through only when Will realized the blinding fury urging him to violence was aimed with singular precision at Alana and not Hannibal. Surely it was not  _ jealousy _ that evoked the swell and coil of his own inner demon to thrash and howl for release against the weakening cage of his morality?

 

Steadying himself against the back of the chair he leaned against, Will trembled with the force of the agencies warring within him, the good man he had always desired to be against what he had long feared he truly was.  The dissension had been ongoing the majority of his life and had, for the most part, remained in a state of stagnation, his light and dark equally matched and locked in a perpetual stalemate. But no longer, that delicate balance had been irrevocably upset.  From the moment Jack had entered his lecture hall and Will had allowed himself to be coerced into abandoning the carefully constructed safety of his classroom, the battles had all become pitched. And not in a manner that favored of the good man struggling to survive inside of the ever-strengthening darkness that so thrived under Hannibal’s guiding hands.    _ The side you feed, wins. _

 

And oh, the things Will had been feasting upon of late, glutting himself like a starved man upon the bounty of Hannibal’s seductive madness.  Telling himself even as he indulged, that it was all in the name of the role he had chosen to play, that the darkness he immersed himself in could and would be cast off at the end, when the monster sitting so calmly before him was at last safely locked away forever and  _ then _ Will could return to his life, emerging scarred but whole, perhaps even purged of the most damnable of the desires that stirred in the recesses of his mind.  But deep down, in the well of his soul, Will knew those thoughts held no more substance than the desperate, wishful hopes of a child still clinging to a beloved fairy tale.  In that black, silent part of himself, Will remembered that before the modern world glossed over their truths with pretty lies, most fairy tales were the stuff of nightmares and horror.  They were meant as warnings, crafted as cautionary tales in which good rarely triumphed and the fair maiden was frequently devoured, a victim of her own folly.

 

Which brought him full circle to Alana.  Yet another unwitting pawn in this game between them and one, Will suspected, that was, at least to Hannibal, as equally disposable as any other previously discarded.  It worried Will that that fact didn’t seem to bother him overly much.

 

“What you have done with Alana,” his mouth twisted briefly in distaste, “what you  _ continue _ to do with her, perplexes me.”  It was a struggle to keep the whirling emotions from his voice, to prevent the full extent of his displeasure from giving him away, but Will managed through sheer self-preservation to bite back the largest portion until only an acceptable trickle of the flood bled through.  It would not do to give the predator sniffing at his flanks another opening to exploit. Tilting his head as if in curiosity, he smiled softly. “Tell me, Dr. Lecter, was her seduction just the next step in alienating from me every source of support I may have availed myself to, or was it something more that cemented your decision to bring Alana to your bed only now?  I doubt it was entirely genuine desire on your part and more a clutch for balance on hers that had her tumbling into bed with her beloved mentor. You could have partaken of our sweet Alana’s affections long ago, so the timing is a bit suspect. A need to retaliate, perhaps? I did set Matthew Brown on you, after all. I suppose that particular sin could not go unanswered.”

 

Will denied the shudder pleading to run down his braced frame at the amusement that flickered and danced in the shadowed depths of the other man’s gaze, refused to let his own giddy reaction to it pool warm and low in his belly to lay alongside the banked embers of his earlier possessive anger.  But Hannibal saw it despite his efforts, the Doctor’s knowing smirk a glaring declaration that he knew and delighted in it all the same.

 

“Alana,” Will hated the way that accented voice turned the vowels and consonants into a syllabic caress, “is in possession of one of the most compassionate and generous souls I have ever had the pleasure of encountering.  Those attributes made her your staunchest ally, determined to provide you aide and champion your cause. It was through your own geas of your proxy that she was driven to my bed, seeking both to comfort the wounded object of your wrath and to receive comfort in return.  She is too tender-hearted for the games played between monsters, blind to the lurking dangers and lacking the instincts that inform all things soft and meek when the lion is in the room.” Tilting his head in mocking mimicry, Hannibal hummed softly. “Is it not kinder, Will, perhaps even preferable, to allow the blind to remain so rather than to insist that they face with unfettered eyes that which they are not equipped to understand, especially if doing so would put their survival into question?”  

 

Such soft words for so pitiless a message, but it was delivered with ruthless clarity and purpose.  Alana had been spared, would continue to be spared, out of consideration for Will and nothing more. Her life a gift from one monster to another.  A gift Will found himself sickly reluctant to accept, a large and increasingly demanding part of him furiously rejecting the method of its delivery.  Will swallowed harshly, the quiet sound loud in the weighted stillness between them as he grappled with warring desires that simultaneously cried out for the continued existence of a woman he had once cared deeply for while howling demandingly for her utter annihilation.

 

A murmured  _ Perhaps _ was all Will could muster safely, eyes downcast to the floor in a wasted effort to conceal his inner turmoil until it was once more held in check by his increasingly tenuous control.  “But my perplexity stems more from your actions than from your reasoning. It seems a far more gentle course of action than your usual methods of circumventing a potential complication.”

 

“Perhaps,” the Doctor allowed, a bit of smug lingering in the phrase he handed back to Will, “but as you yourself have proven so effectively, there are means of influence other than violence.”  A shift in the air between them, the smooth features of Hannibal’s face tightening into harsher lines, the humor fleeing a gaze made sharp with displeasure. “And if my liaison with the lovely Dr. Bloom was in answer for any perceived trespass as you earlier suggested, it would not include the slight of employing Matthew Brown as a surrogate for your wrath.  Conceivably, it was a simple matter of reciprocity for a much older infidelity.”

 

Will’s head swam, his empathy making the connection and forcing understanding into his unprepared mind with painful clarity and speed.  A snowy night, roads made treacherous by frozen slush and desperation as Will had made a beeline for the only consistently reliable thing in his life at the time.   _ Well, I kissed Alana Bloom. _  Words uttered in a rush of embarrassed, frantic emotion as he had barged carelessly into Hannibal’s home.  How he had failed to see the indignant, possessive anger that must have at least peeked out at him from Hannibal’s amber eyes, even if just for an instant, before the Doctor’s iron control was reasserted, was a mystery to Will, his only comfort the fact that the fire ravaging his mind during those hellish months had surely left him as blind to the truth as Alana’s naivety now left her.  For a moment he wondered just how close the Doctor had been to snapping his oblivious little neck that night. 

 

Moving on legs that trembled to the point they now threatened to send him to the floor in an indignant sprawl, Will resumed the seat he had earlier abandoned, one hand absently rubbing across his lips as if to erase that long ago mistake.  And it had been a mistake. Will could admit that now. Even if Alana had been receptive, they would have never been able to enjoy more than a superficial connection. There was no denying that Hannibal was right when he labeled Alana as too soft and sweet, too ill-equipped to ever truly understand Will and the demons that shared his skin, her nature too innocent to ever allow her to comprehend him in his entirety.  And if she ever did manage to see what lived inside of Will, she would turn against him again and just as quickly as she had during his incarceration. Just as Jack had, along with the rest of those Will had been perilously close to seeing as his friends. That had hurt, to have allowed them to come close only to be rejected and reviled, a repeating nightmare that Will had sworn after New Orleans to never leave himself open to again.  But he had, and it had blown up in his face, history looping in on itself once more. It had emphasized just how painfully alone he had become and why it was safer to remain so. People, on a whole, were not loyal. Only Beverly had been willing to consider, however reluctantly, the possibility of Will’s innocence and that had not ended well. Just as it had been his entire life, Will was once more abandoned, rejected by those meant to stand by him and left to fend for himself.

 

In the wasteland his life had become, there was only Hannibal.  Only he remained. It no longer mattered that he had been the orchestrator of this disaster, Will now understood that no matter the outcome, the monster sitting across from him would not abandon him, but fully intended to see this,  _ him, _ through to the end.  But Will found himself suddenly and unexpectedly at a loss as to understand what it was the Doctor truly wanted from him.  Oh, he knew Hannibal desired to be instrumental in bringing about Will’s  _ becoming, _ but now, with the revelations so painfully acquired tonight, Will couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t more to Hannibal’s design.

 

Will realized he had allowed the silence to stretch on too long, the slight rustle of fine wool over smooth leather alerting him to the restless curiosity his lack of response had stirred in the man seated opposite of him. Mentally scrambling for some form of reply, Will fell back on the dark banter they so often employed between them, a means of deflection that would be readily recognized by the other, but was often allowed.  “How very petty of you, Dr. Lecter.”

 

A single, barely-there brow lifted in comment as to the weakness of the rejoinder but Hannibal refrained from commenting further on its deficiency.  “And yet, entirely effective it would seem. At least in as such, it has garnered your...censure.” Though his expression betrayed no more than a mild kind of satisfaction, the waves of absolute, smug gratification were all but oozing from the Doctor’s pores to trace along the edges of Will’s empathy, further irritating nerves already strung tight by confusion and suppressed jealousy.  It made him snappish.

 

“Effective, yes, but no longer necessary.  The lesson has been learned quite thoroughly, Doctor.  You may consider me sufficiently chastised and no further instruction will be required.  It is time to bring that particular act in our play to an end.” The demand, and it  _ was _ a demand, was hissed through gritted teeth, low and almost guttural as Will and the darkness coiled inside of him spoke as one. Alana could no longer be tolerated.

 

Hannibal’s gaze dropped, long fingers picked at imaginary lint on his slacks as he smiled softly.  “As you wish, Will.” Demure, quiet. Pleased by the vicious possessiveness of Will’s statement. That liquid gaze rose to drown the midnight blue of Will’s own, bloody flames floating in their depths as they licked across the lines of tension between them.  “As long as you are quite certain the message does not bear repeating? Having taught the same lesson twice now, I am afraid, should you need to be returned to your studies on the same subject for yet a third time, the methods I would be forced to employ would be of a far more...severe nature.”

 

Will shuddered at the warning carried in the soft, almost lyrical tones of Hannibal’s voice, the burning cold of the eyes that refused now to release him.  Will did not need to ask for clarification, he knew the second repetition Hannibal spoke of without being told.  _ Margot. _  As if summoned, her shade stepped from Alana’s shadow, taking her place behind the Doctor’s seat, one hand caressing the flat plane of her stomach, just where the ugly scar of her cesarean lay beneath the emerald silk of her shirt, the other resting carefully on the back of Hannibal’s chair.  Her large, doe eyes held all the sorrow and helpless acceptance of her life as she stood silent and still.

 

That scar and all it represented was largely Mason’s doing, but a significant portion of the horror could and should be laid at Hannibal’s door.  When Will had seen it for the first time, an angry, red slash marring the creamy, smooth skin, he had almost been able to feel the cut of the scalpel parting his own flesh, remorselessly severing his nascent connection to a child that should have never been conceived. Hannibal’s hand may not have been the one holding the blade, but it had been his manipulations that had guided the cut. While Will was perfectly aware that he didn’t love Margot, he shared in her grief, the loss a painful punishment carried out with brutal efficiency upon them both.  Never again would either of them entertain the thought of a child. The lesson had been learned very, very well.

 

“Nothing and no one that is not you in my life.”  Heavy, slow, with all the weight and import of a vow, Will offered up his acceptance and, more importantly, his understanding, allowing the words to bind in a way he had never willingly permitted before and allowed no consideration given for the consequences.  He was in far too deep to start caring about those now. “The lesson was well taught, Doctor, and thoroughly understood. There will be no need to revisit that particular curriculum again.”

 

A minute incline of a head, a pleased smile gracing the sculpted lines of his mouth, Hannibal accepted, no, he  _ claimed _ Will’s vow as his own, only the hunger curling through his dark eyes giving life to the covenant those words birthed between them.  It lay warm and heavy against their skin, solidifying even as the ghostly figures behind the Doctor slowly crumbled away like ash and memory.  They had served their purpose and could now be set aside, unimportant and unworthy of notice. 

 

“In every relationship, whether familial, romantic or social, boundaries must be set and enforced, for the good of those involved and the health of the relationship.  A clear and necessary understanding of that which is allowed and that which is not.” The calm words carried on such a reasonable tone tried to give lie to the sheer amount of want coiling and pulsing within the twin pools of onyx and amber, but Will could see it, could  _ feel _ the way it caressed and flowed over his skin, scorching and invasively intimate, a living, breathing force that longed to consume.  How Will wished he had known before now, before the BSH and Chilton, before Jack and their plan to trap that which Will was rapidly coming to believe was incapable of being caught.  It would have changed things, perhaps even everything. 

 

Except for  _ one. _  The one thing Will could not, would not forgive.

 

_ “Abigail. _  You allowed me Abigail, Doctor.  Encouraged that relationship when you would have me eschew all others but yourself, going so far as to all but adopt her on both our names.  Abigail was allowed, Hannibal, and I would know  _ why.” _  Will did not waste his efforts in trying to hide the anguished pain coursing through him, the desperate, grinding need for an answer that would give meaning to all Hannibal had forced him to endure.  That would somehow allow Will to justify the  _ why _ of his presence here with this monster, still, even after all he knew the other man had done.

 

“Of all the loose...connections that hold you tethered to this life, Will, only Abigail was truly suited to travel with us into the next. Bridging the ever-shrinking chasms lingering between us, her own struggles and secrets facilitating our endeavors to reach and know one another.  She alone was a perfect fit between us, a match to our set if you will.” Regret, Will could see it  _ was  _ regret now, flowed through Hannibal’s quiet words, pulled the expressive lines of his mouth down into something resembling grief.  Will’s answering laugh resembled nothing so much as a half-strangled sob.

 

“But she broke the rules and you, what?  Decided the bridge wasn’t needed after all and so you burned it?”  Will swiped angrily at eyes that betrayed his desire not to give the Doctor the pleasure of his tears, giving up when they refused to cease providing physical proof of his pain.  “For all your talk of teacups and time, Hannibal, you miscalculated. You dropped the teacup, let it shatter and in doing so, you broke the set you sought to preserve, leaving it irrevocably incomplete.  It can never come back together again and no amount of wishing can change that now.” Will let his head fall back, his eyes close. He was so  _ damned _ tired.  Tired of trying, tired of fighting himself and other, tired of trying to prevail in a game he was no longer sure he wanted to win.  He was just tired of it all. With his eyes closed, it was easier to pretend his grief was not still leaking out from beneath his lids, easier to ignore the wetness sliding down his temples to soak into his hair.  “I could have forgiven you anything, Hannibal.  _ Have _ forgiven you, in fact.  But not that. Not  _ her. _  Your fit of pique has placed you beyond redemption.  As much as I might desire it, I can’t envision a way back from that.”

 

“Then tell me, why are you here, Will?  Why do you continue to come to me, returning again and again if, as you say, the set is beyond restoration?  Would it not be so much easier to retreat into the quiet of your country stream, to withdraw from the world and all its tedious demands, to fade without effort or protest into peaceful nothingness?”

 

Will kept his head tilted back, his eyes closed, but allowed a small, sad smile to sit upon his lips.  “It would be eminently more desirable, I assure you. But you are like the poison in the wine, Hannibal. Despite the knowledge that you will eventually destroy me, you are still sweet upon my lips, intoxicating to my mind, a fire in my blood.  An acquired taste, to be sure, but one that you have encouraged and I have, to my detriment, come to require.” A quiet sigh, exhaustion, and resignation carried together on a near silent breath. “Or perhaps I have just decided it is better to be alone, together.”

 

Hannibal remained silent, either considering his words carefully or contemplating putting Will out of his misery at last.  Will found he honestly didn’t care either way, the idea of not having to face another dawn quite comforting in fact. Will settled deeper into his chair and allowed the crackling of the fire dying in the hearth to lull him into a near slumber, almost startling when Hannibal finally spoke after an indeterminate amount of time had passed.

 

“Tell me, Will, are you familiar with the term  _ trompe l’oeil?” _  Smooth and calm, the question floated across their shared space as so many invitations to discourse had before it, but this…this inquiry carried within it a quiet thrum of anticipation, an excited tension that snatched at Will’s tired mind, drawing him back from the edge of sleep with demanding edges.  Reluctant to relinquish the momentary peace he had found, Will compromised, remaining as he was in body, reclined in the soft leather of the chair, head back, eyes closed, in every way a man reposed, even as his mind gave in to the tease, fussing and fidgeting over the unfamiliar phrase, turning it this way and that, eager to puzzle out where the good Doctor might be leading him with this new and curious tangent.  Dredging up the rusty remnants of his horrible Creole French, Will rolled the phrase around in his mind, picking and poking and prodding at it without satisfaction beyond the literal translation.

 

“Deceives the eye,”  he murmured, his own opening to stare unseeing through the murky dark towards where he knew logically the ceiling must exist but where only shifting shadows seemed to reside.  “Have you ever noticed, Doctor, how everything seems so much more... _ pretentious _ in French?  I wonder why that is.”  A slow blink, a click in his throat, a refusal to tip his head to meet the gaze he could feel boring into his skin.

 

“A literal translation that says much but reveals little.”  Hannibal shifted in his seat, Will could almost hear his displeasure at Will’s steadfast study of the upper reaches of the room in the minute movement, but the other man staunchly refrained from responding to the quip.  “An elegant turn of phrase for a delicate art. Illusions are only effective as long as they are perceived as truth by a receptive audience.”

 

“Mmm...and it’s always helpful when the fools are so willing to be fooled.”  The dry humor in Will’s voice made it clear that he did not hold himself exempt from that number.

 

“Exponentially so,” Hannibal agreed, playful irony curling around the edges of his tone.  “And you set the stage so beautifully when you decided rather rashly to invite Abigail to accompany you back to Minnesota for a final time.”

 

Gritted teeth, muscles suddenly coiled tight with tension, fingers digging deep into the leather armrests rather than into the vulnerable, soft skin of the Doctor’s throat where they now longed to reside.  “Set the stage for  _ what _ exactly?” Quietly seethed as a not so subtle warning, his own beast now edging the confines of its deteriorating cage as it was goaded almost beyond bearing.

 

“The second act of our play was coming to its climatic end, Will.” Chiding, as though instructing a rather slow but beloved child to look again, to see what had been missed.  “The damsel found herself beset by dire and deadly circumstances, hunted and pursued by those eager to crucify her upon the cross of her father’s crimes. The tragic hero was thought by all to be lost to his own demons, his mind ravaged and splintered by that which he stove so valiantly against and the enemy was closing in from all quarters.  Tragedy was unavoidable, drawing ineluctably near as those caught in its grasp struggled and strived in vain to break free of its hold. Preferable to captivity and persecution, death became less of a thing to be feared and more of a source of solace and succor.”

 

Eyes narrowed, his nimble imagination a maelstrom of activity, distracted by a sickening sense of hope that was ruthlessly shoved aside until the scattered pieces finally, sluggishly began coalescing to form a fractured and as of yet incomplete image.  Abandoning the refuge of the ceiling, Will brought his own gaze to bear on the remorseless, cunning predator at rest only an arm’s reach away. “Death, or its illusion? What have you done, Hannibal?” A demand, a plea, a whispered prayer that Hannibal would not be so cruel as to offer hope only to leave him gutted by anguish once more.  “Tell me.  _ Please.” _

 

Even monsters could be merciful it seemed.  There was affection and kindness and a gentleness that softened the blood-soaked brown of the Doctor’s eyes to a warm amber, blunted the harsh angles of his features into something near mortal.  “There was no place for Abigail to thrive in this world that would not rend and break her. I refused to allow history to repeat itself, for the teacup to be shattered once more and so time was reversed, a new world created.  It awaits us, full of unimaginable possibilities and unbridled potential. We could live happily there, free from the yoke of judgment and restriction placed upon us by those incapable of true understanding and undeserving to see us as we are.  A new existence, crafted with meticulous care, nurtured into being through pain and suffering, awaiting only the fires of your becoming to ignite it into reality.”

 

Will could only sit, all motion made still, suspended like a breath untaken, the last obstacle preventing forgiveness swept away in a tidal wave of revelation.  The enormity of what he was being offered, the reality that could be his, if he were brave enough to reach for it, was crushing and liberating by turn, offering him more than he had ever conceived of knowing.  A life free from the struggles of his past, absent of the need to grapple with the darkness that refused to return to silent slumber, instead demanding outlet and agency in the world, it would finally be granted room and guidance to come into its own besides the only two persons in existence that saw it as something beautiful and worthy of love.  In his mind’s eye, the years stretched out before him, filled with the mundane and the exceptional, family dinners sharing space with blood-soaked hunts and the joy of the kill. A life shared, a family made whole.

 

But the price demanded of him would be high.  Will had suffered much already, had been made a sacrifice upon the altar of Abigail’s freedom, had endured the indignity of confinement and the torments of severed bonds.  But he was not foolish enough to imagine it would be found sufficient. A gifting of such magnitude could not be so cheaply bought. 

 

And that was fine. He was willing to pay.

 

Something of his decision must have shown in his expression or perhaps just behind the mirrors of his eyes, the sharp intake of breath and the look of near adoration sat unfamiliar but welcome upon the Doctor’s face, anticipation held barely in check as he waited for Will to give voice to the promise in his gaze.

 

“To usher rebirth into existence, a sacrifice is customarily offered, the currency rendered most often in the blood and viscera of the life to be left behind.  An excising of the old to usher in the new.” Firmer now, quiet confidence and strengthening resolve ascending to give truth and purpose to intent.

 

“I do not require a sacrifice, Will, but if your desire is to make a declaration, then, by all means, I would not dream of standing in opposition and would be honored to bear witness.”  There was so much excitement and near euphoria in those understated words, a wealth of emotion that Will’s empathy wanted to immerse his entire being in, to drown in the savage flood and never surface from.  But there would be time enough for that later.  _ A lifetime of indulgence. _

 

For the present, there was much to be done.  His last act in this life must be worthy of all Hannibal was gifting him with, something beautiful and transcendent, the death throes of this life become an ethereal proclamation of his devotion and nothing that could ever be taken back or denied.  Will did not need the pendulum for this, would probably never need it again, his decision striking the lock from the cage of his soul with a finality that echoed against his bones, the monster smiling his victory with Will’s lips.

 

Rising gracefully from his seat, Will allowed a coy tilt of his head, the demure glance given through his lashes drawing the Doctor from his seat to stand intimately close, bare inches between them now, both seeing and being seen by the other as they were always meant to be.

 

“Tell me, Dr. Lecter, would it be inconceivably rude of us to wake Jack at this late hour?  There’s something I want to show him.”


End file.
